


Felis Humanis

by The_Arkadian



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, DAPromptExchange, Gen, anders as a cat, eventual fenders, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: From http://dapromptexchange.tumblr.com/post/159757726189/when-anders-wakes-up-he-cant-seem-to-get-his-body:When Anders wakes up he can't seem to get his body to work right, and everything looks so strange in muted colors and everything is so much bigger than he is used to. That's when he sees himself - or rather, his body - come over to him. His body, controlled by Justice, picks him up and pets him. Anders loves cats but he never wanted to actually become one!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Current rating is T; violence is only likely to be canonical levels. Rating and warnings may be adjusted as this progresses; this will be noted in the notes for each chapter as it progresses. Keep an eye on the tags.
> 
> Going to *try* and keep this one under 15K but can't guarantee I'll be able to stick to that. ;-)
> 
> Oh, it may or may not become eventual fenders; I've added the tag to be on the safe side.

Anders wakes to the sensation of fur tickling his nose. He sneezes three times, then opens his eyes blearily.

Then blinks, disoriented.

There is only one candle lit, and yet he can see the whole of the clinic from his position on the floor with perfect clarity. And everything seems somehow... _larger_ than normal.

Wait.

What is he doing on the floor?

He sits up and nearly falls over again. Something is wrong - very wrong indeed; his body feels strange. He glances down at his hands and then recoils as he sees white paws and tawny striped fur. He opens his mouth to yell in alarm, but the only sound that escapes is an alarmed yowl.

**_“AH. YOU HAVE AWAKENED. DO NOT BE AFRAID.”_**

He turns his head at the strangely familiar voice and then finds himself suddenly being swept up into the air by a giant pair of hands; he flails wildly and lets out a screech of alarm before he finds himself staring up at -

His own face. The eyes are glowing blue-white, and cracks of spirit fire dance across the skin as the blond-haired man stares down at him.

_Justice??_

**_“ANDERS. SOMETHING HAS GONE WRONG.”_**

_No shit._ He stares up at Justice, and becomes aware of two very odd sensations at the same time. The first is the feeling of all the hair down the entire length of his spine standing on end, right down to the tip of his tail. _Tail. I have a tail. What -_

The second is the feeling of a large, clumsy hand trying to stroke him. A large hand that sparks with spirit energy that spits and crackles against his fur; it feels _wrong_ and _unnatural_ and from somewhere deep inside wells up a base instinctual surge of fear and terror.

An unearthly wail escapes him as he scrabbles wildly to get away from the hand and that touch. The look on Justice’s face shifts from a frown to concern. **_“ANDERS, WHAT IS WRONG?”_**

He can’t tell him. The only sound that comes from his throat is that fearful wail. How could he explain? On the one hand, he _knows_ that what holds him is his own body, possessed by Justice. On the other hand, this body he is in right now also _knows_ with absolute certainty that what holds him is not natural and therefore to be feared, and he can feel himself being overwhelmed by feelings of panic and raw terror.

Somehow he manages to wriggle free; for a moment he is falling, his body twisting in midair, and then his paws hit the ground and he is off, running for dear life. He dashes wildly for the door; it is barred, but he drops to his belly and scoots under the door, dragging himself through the narrow gap at the bottom and out into the shadows of Darktown beyond.

He flees down the nearest alleyway, leaping down a stairway then bolting down a side passage as he hears the doors of the clinic wrench open and a hollow booming voice calling his name.

He loses himself swiftly.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke pulled his knives out of the bandit’s chest and watched dispassionately as the man pitched forward onto his face, dead before he ever hit the ground. Hawke pulled a rag from a belt pouch and calmly, methodically began to wipe the blood from the blades.

“That makes eight,” he remarked. “Think that’s the lot, Aveline?”

The guardswoman glanced around the wreckage of what had been a bandit camp until about fifteen minutes ago, then gave a satisfied nod. “I think so,” she agreed. “The reports mentioned no more than eight.”

Merrill straightened from where she had crouched to peer into one of the tents. “There are only eight bedrolls,” she remarked. 

Hawke nodded in satisfaction. “Looks like we’ve taken care of your little bandit problem then, Aveline,” he smiled grimly.

“For which you have my thanks, Hawke,” Aveline replied. “This group have been plaguing travellers for weeks now, but we simply haven’t the manpower to send patrols out this far from the city.”

Fenris swung his greatsword onto his back as he walked over to join them. “What of the valuables they stole?”

“Well -” began Aveline.

“Divide it up,” said Hawke. “We’ll set aside a share for Anders and his clinic then split the rest between us.”

“Hawke, I can’t let you do that!” protested Aveline. He turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Aveline, the people this stuff belonged to are dead. You’ve got no way of tracing any next of kin,” Hawke pointed out. “And this way, we get paid without the need for you to dip into the Guard coffers. It’s a win all round.”

“And Anders?” she asked, dubiously.

“He’s earning his share, Aveline, believe me,” he replied as he sheathed his blades. “He’s still looking after those miners that were attacked by the dragonlings we killed the day before yesterday in the Bone Pit. And you know as well as I do that he’ll spend all his share on the clinic. Consider it a donation to charity if you like.” He gave her a winning smile.

Fenris grunted and turned away as Aveline heaved a sigh.

“Alright, Hawke, have it your way,” she nodded. “You do have a point.”

Merrill was rummaging around in one of the tents, pulling out anything of value she could find; presently Hawke, Fenris and Aveline were doing likewise until there was a pile of valuables on a blanket on the ground in the middle of the campsite. Hawke set to dividing it up into piles as Fenris and Aveline slung bandit bodies over the cliff edge and Merrill set the tents on fire. By the time Hawke had finished apportioning the loot, the only signs there had ever been a camp here were the charred spots where the tents and the campfire had been.

They made good time back to Kirkwall; the sun was only just beginning to set as they arrived outside the Hanged Man.

“Joining us, Aveline?” asked Hawke.

“Afraid not, Hawke,” she replied. “I’ve got to file a report on the bandit activity; I’m on duty for another couple of hours yet.”

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Hawke. “You’ll join us later for Wicked Grace as usual?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she nodded. She lifted a hand briefly in farewell then headed off towards Hightown as the others headed inside.

“Hawke! You’re back early; I wasn’t expecting you back from that patrol until tomorrow,” Varric greeted them.

“We got lucky,” shrugged Hawke as he took a seat at the table. He glanced around and nodded greetings to Isabela. “Anders not here yet?”

“Rivaini’s the first to show up; I’m sure Blondie will be along in a while,” shrugged Varric. “Sebastian’s tied up with Chantry business at the moment.”

“Aveline will be by later on,” said Hawke.

“No doubt with Donnic,” nodded Varric. 

Fenris and Isabela headed down to the common room to fetch drinks as Hawke and Merrill described the day’s business and their haul of loot from the patrol. Once everyone had their drinks, Varric produced a deck of cards and they settled into the game.

Aveline and Donnic joined them a couple of hours later, when they were well into the third round of drinks; Sebastian made a belated appearance a short while after that, offering apologies for his tardiness. Of Anders, there was no sign.

“Probably keeping in one or two of those miners,” shrugged Hawke.

“Miners?” echoed Sebastian as he glanced up from his cards with a slight frown.

“Dragonlings at the Bone Pit,” shrugged Hawke. “We cleared them out a couple of days ago, but a few of the miners had been injured. Anders was looking after them whilst we dealt with Aveline’s bandits.”

“He should have been finished by now though, surely?” asked Isabela as she discarded a card and drew another. 

Hawke shrugged. “Probably wore himself out,” he replied. “You know how he pushes himself. I’ll drop by the clinic tomorrow with his share.”

“I do hope he’s alright,” said Merrill thoughtfully. “He’s been looking very tired recently, don’t you think?”

Fenris grunted noncommittally as he discarded a card and drew another.

“Alright folks, show your hands,” declared Varric as he straightened and spread out his cards; the others did likewise and there was a chorus of groans as Fenris leaned forward to claim his takings.

“At least Anders is spared losing to you yet again, Fenris,” joked Hawke with a wry grin.

“The mage still owes me a sovereign from last week’s game,” shrugged Fenris.

“Want me to take it from his share?” offered Hawke; Fenris pondered then shrugged. 

“No need,” he said as he reached for the bottle of wine. “It can wait until our next game.”

“Assuming he still has coin by then,” Isabela pointed out. Fenris smirked slightly.

“Then perhaps he will have to think of some other way to repay me.”

Donnic and Aveline got to their feet, Donnic downing the last of his ale swiftly.

“Going so soon?” asked Hawke.

“Afraid so; we’re both on duty tomorrow,” replied Aveline. “There’s been new smuggling activity near Darktown recently.”

“Need a hand with looking into it?” inquired Hawke. 

“I might at that,” replied Aveline thoughtfully. “Drop by my office tomorrow and we can talk about it.”

“I’m afraid I, too, must head off,” said Sebastian as he rose to his feet. 

Aveline, Donnic and Sebastian departed. Varric eyed Fenris.

“Up for another hand, elf, or are you leaving too?” he asked as he gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them.

“I haven’t finished my wine,” replied Fenris.

Varric grinned and began dealing the cards once more.

***

It was late by the time Fenris finally emerged into the night air. He’d won two more hands then lost the third to Isabela and the fourth to Varric; still, he had three more sovereigns in his pocket than he’d started the evening with.

He was also rather more tipsy than he’d intended; there’d been another bottle of wine in there at some point, and as he set off back towards Hightown his steps were not quite as steady as they had been earlier.

It was raining, the water forming puddles of mud in the dusty streets; Fenris’ lip curled in disgust as he was swiftly soaked, his hair dripping in his eyes as he wove his way slightly unsteadily onwards. 

He had just passed beneath the gate that led into Hightown when he suddenly became aware that he was not alone; five dark shadowy figures slipped out of the darkness to surround him.

Inebriated as he was, his reflexes were still faster than theirs and his sword was in his hand and slashing through the throat of the nearest would-be thief before they could react. With barely a thought his brands flared into brilliant light; the remaining bandits recoiled with exclamations and oaths even as he leapt towards the next nearest figure, phasing through the man to emerge with his still-beating heart clenched in one fist.

The bandits swiftly threw off their shock and rallied to the attack; Fenris was forced to defend himself against two at once. He missed the last bandit, only belatedly aware of his danger as the two bandits before him fell when there was a sudden fierce caterwauling and the woman swore, stumbling over a stray cat as she lunged to stab him in the back. She lashed out with a foot and the cat skidded across the wet cobblestones to hit the wall of a house.

The momentary distraction was all Fenris needed; he shifted his balance then plunged his fist into her chest. He had the satisfaction of watching her eyes widen in sudden shock before glazing over in death as he wrenched her heart from her chest.

He dropped the organ then glanced around at the five bodies. All was still and silent, save for the patter of rain upon the cobblestones.

A small movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up, and his gaze fell upon the stray cat. It was stirring feebly, no doubt stunned by its collision with the wall.

Settling his sword upon his back, Fenris crossed the square and stared down at the cat.

It was a ginger tabby, fur sodden and plastered to its thin scrawny body. It shivered as it groggily got to its feet; shaking itself in a vain effort to shed the water soaking its coat it turned amber-gold eyes upon the elf and gave a plaintive little mew of distress.

Fenris frowned down at the cat. He crouched down and held a hand out to it; it flinched away from him, but then after a moment it tentatively stretched out to sniff delicately at his fingertips.

“It seems I owe you my thanks, Ser Cat,” Fenris remarked quietly. The cat stared up at him and made a small chirping sound that sounded almost like a question. Fenris chuckled, then straightened.

“Go home, Ser Cat; this night is fit for neither elf nor beast,” he admonished the creature. He turned and began to weave his unsteady way towards home.

From somewhere near his feet there was a small mew; he paused then looked down. The cat was following at his heels; as Fenris halted, it lifted a paw to bat at his ankle then looked up at him. 

Fenris frowned. “Shoo. Go away. Go home.”

The cat sat back on its haunches and mewed again.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You should follow the Abomination - _he_ likes cats, I hear,” he muttered.

The cat suddenly pricked its ears towards him and stared at him, then rose up on its hind legs to paw at his knees.

“Cat, what are you doing?” exclaimed Fenris as he backed away. The cat stared up at him then slowly hunched in upon itself, head lowered, looking utterly dejected as the rain soaked its fur and ran in rivulets over its flanks and down its face. It gave the cat the appearance of crying, and the inebriated elf felt a sudden sharp pang of guilt and remorse.

The cat _had_ helped him, even if inadvertently, by tripping the last bandit. And it truly did look a most pathetic and wretched beast, shivering and wet. By the looks of its scrawny flanks it likely hadn’t had a decent meal in some time.

He bent down and scooped up the cat in his arms. Startled, it stiffened in surprise before relaxing slightly as he stroked a hand down its back. “Easy, Cat; I will not hurt you.” He stared down at the cat as it slowly relaxed more fully in his arms; after a little while, it began to purr softly.

“What shall I do with you? You cannot stay out here. And nor can I; it is too wet and cold,” he added with a frown. He pondered for a moment, then came to a decision. “You will come with me.”

The cat looked up and gave a soft chirp as he began walking in the direction of the mansion.

“I am taking you to my home. I think I may have some dried meat there. You are too skinny, cat.” He sighed. “I am talking to a cat. The Abomination would laugh himself sick if he could see me.” He glanced down at the cat as he walked. “You should have gone to Anders; he would know what to do with you.”

The cat rested its paws against Fenris’ chest and tucked its head beneath his chin and shivered as he carried it home.


	3. Chapter 3

He shivers and presses himself closer to the elf’s chest. He is drenched to the skin and chilled to the bone; and hunger curls in his belly and gnaws at him. He cannot remember ever being so cold, wet, starving and miserable in his life. He’s barely slept. Kirkwall has never seemed so terrifying and full of danger before.

He’s afraid of the elf, but far more terrified of the inhuman creature following him. Almost as much as he is over the way he thinks he is slowly slipping more and more into the _now_ of cat-thought and losing more and more of himself to being a cat. _I am Anders. I am Anders! I AM ANDERS!!_

“Peace, cat,” rumbles the elf as he carries the agitated feline through the wet streets, and Anders falls silent, not having realised that in his distress he had been yowling.

Yes, best to keep silent so the inhuman one does not find him.

The elf - _Fenris_ , he reminds himself, carries him gently into the decaying decrepit hulk that is the mansion he has called home ever since arriving in Kirkwall. The-cat-who-is-Anders finds that the dessicated corpses adorning the foyer don’t bother him as much whilst he is in this form as they did when he was human. As a cat, they are just inert objects - dried up husks of carrion too mummified to attract his scavenger instincts. They pose no threat. They are harmless.

Fenris strokes his wet fur gently as he carries him up to the room he has claimed for his own. He sets Anders down upon the bed then hunts around in a chest in a corner. After a little while he returns with a towel and rubs the cat down briskly. Anders yowls in annoyance as his fur is ruffled the wrong way, but he feels warmer and drier once the elf is done. Still, he sets to work grooming himself afterwards to restore his dignity.

By the time he has finished, Fenris has gotten the fire in the hearth lit and has produced some morsels of dried jerky from somewhere; he is busy shredding them onto a plate which he sets down near the fire next to a bowl of water.

Anders leaps down from the bed and runs over to the plate of food; he bolts it swiftly then licks the plate clean. Fenris chuckles.

“Easy, little one! I have more.” He shreds more meat onto the plate; after three plates, Anders finally feels full. He drinks deeply from the bowl and then stretches out before the fire, at last replete. He purrs. The fire is warm, his stomach is full, and he seems safe here for now. He closes his eyes and drifts into sleep.

He dreams of being a man.

The fire has burned down low to glowing embers when next he opens his eyes, and he has a few disorienting moments in which he blinks, confused, not knowing where he is. He sits up, and then the feeling of his cat’s body reminds him and his ears droop.

He is still a cat.

There is a grunting snort then a low sigh from behind; startled, he leaps to his feet and spins around, ears flattened and hackles rising until he realises it is merely Fenris rolling over in his sleep.

He pads over to the bed then leaps up onto the counterpane. Silently he creeps up the bed until he is staring down at Fenris. The elf’s face is peaceful in sleep, lines of care smoothed over.

Anders feels intensely lonely. He hesitates a moment, then creeps slowly into the circle of Fenris’ arms and curls up.

Presently he drifts asleep once more.

 

***

 

Fenris was awakened by the early morning sun shining straight into his eyes. It seemed the heavy rain of last night had given way to brilliant sunshine this morning. Doubtless the day would be unpleasantly humid.

Something stirred against him and he nearly shot from the bed in surprise; glancing down, he saw his arms were full of tawny tabby fur. As the cat stirred, yawning widely to show sharp little teeth and pink tongue, Fenris belatedly remembered the events of last night and the cat he had brought home.

In the light of day and with its fur dry, he could see that the cat was, indeed, ginger. The face was long and almost angular - not like the flat-nosed cats favoured by some magisters, with their ridiculously-long fur that was prone to matting unless daily groomed by their masters’ slaves; instead it reminded him more of the cats of Antiva, the fur not quite as long as Tevinter cats but longer than the short-haired moggies he’d encountered in the Free Marches; silky of coat, the tail full and plumed. As the cat opened its eyes and blinked at him, he found he was being regarded by inquisitive amber-hued eyes.

The cat gave an interrogative-sounding mew, and Fenris smiled.

“Good morning to you too, Ser Cat,” he replied. “I must thank you for your timely, if perhaps unplanned assistance last night, little one. What now should I do with you, I wonder?”

He tentatively stroked a hand along the cat’s spine, and it purred. He couldn’t repress a small chuckle. “I presume you _are_ a Ser Cat? Or are you perhaps a Milady Cat?”

The cat turned and swatted at his hand suddenly with a velveted paw, ears flat, and Fenris pulled his hand away with a laugh. “Ser Cat it is, then! I would almost think you understood my words, little one!”

The cat leapt nimbly out of his arms, padded to the edge of the bed and then dropped down on silent feet. Fenris rose from the bed and followed the cat as it (he?) stalked gracefully over to the empty food dish then sat beside it, curling the fluffy tail around its feet primly then staring up at Fenris with large golden eyes.

“Are you telling me you are hungry?” asked the elf as he headed over to his pack. He rummaged around inside and found the rest of the packet of jerky, then shredded the dried meat into the dish. The cat watched with keen interest, but waited until Fenris stepped back before bending to eat, almost dainty bites that nonetheless cleaned the dish swiftly as Fenris emptied and refilled the water bowl. 

He would have to get more meat for the cat - perhaps something fresh. Cats liked fish, didn’t they? Fenris couldn’t stand the smell of fish - but maybe the cat would eat rabbit? He would have to go visit the market, he mused. Perhaps he should look amongst some of the old chests and see if he could find a blanket and perhaps some kind of box or basket suitable for making a cat bed - wait, no, the cat had slept on the bed with him last night, hadn’t it? (He hoped that wasn’t a one-off.) What about toileting - what did one do about such things? Perhaps he should leave one of the downstairs windows open slightly so the cat could go into the garden if it wished. The abomination seemed to know about cats - hadn’t he said he’d owned one once? Perhaps he should ask him for advice -

Fenris then blinked as he realised he was already making plans to keep and care for a stray cat he had picked up only the previous evening - and that only because he felt sorry for the creature. And yet he had to admit that whilst it had felt very strange to wake to the sensation of a furred body curled up against him, he couldn’t deny it had felt very pleasant; there was something very soothing about stroking a purring cat.

An imperious “Miow!” from somewhere near his feet distracted him from his thoughts. Fenris glanced down and realised the cat was staring at him; the moment it was certain he was looking at him, it walked towards the closed door and rose up on its hind legs to paw at the door. Evidently the animal wished to go out.

He opened the door and the cat darted down the stairs; he followed hastily as the cat made unerringly towards one of the downstairs rooms at the rear of the house. He followed it into the room in time to see the cat leap gracefully up onto the windowsill then through a glassless pane of the broken window, into the garden, and vanish.

He blinked, and suddenly felt rather more lonely.

 

***

Despite the cat’s absence, Fenris went to the market and bought rabbit, chicken, fish and milk.

The cat had not returned by nightfall. 

***

He woke the next morning to find the cat once more curled up in his arms, and felt a sense of relief.

“Cat, are you hungry?” he asked.

The cat gave a little chirp and leapt down from the bed to race for the dish upon the floor.

It seemed no more fond of the fish than he was (thank goodness!) but the chicken was received with much purring. Fenris thought he was beginning to see what the abomination saw in such creatures.

 

***

A week later, and it was hard to remember what life had been like before he had brought the cat home.

***

Hawke wended his way home wearily. The fight at the docks had gone poorly, and the merchandise had already been moved on elsewhere by the time he, Varric and Aveline had tracked the smugglers to the warehouse.

It would have been different if Anders had been there, he reflected; he’d gotten so used to the blond apostate’s healing spells keeping them on their feet and his shield spells that helped keep them safe. Hawke had gone through all his healing potions and a stamina draught - and he still ached and felt like nug shit by the end. But Anders had been absent from the clinic when he and Varric had dropped by at the start of the night, the lantern unlit and no answer at the door. 

Anders hadn’t been at their regular Wicked Grace night two nights ago either. Oddly, come to think of it, nor had Fenris; Isabela and Varric had jokingly suggested the apostate and the broody elf might be found together. And nugs might fly - there was certainly no love lost between those two, reflected Hawke. Ridiculous, really; they had so much in common that they might have been good friends if only they could stop and listen to each other for once.

Hawke sighed. He might as well wish for the moon.

He finally arrived back at the estate, and fumbled for his key.

“ _HAWKE._ ”

Hawke jumped back and swore as the voice boomed suddenly out of the shadows, his hands going to his knives before belatedly he recognised the blond apostate who stepped out of the shadows. “Anders, you ass, you nearly frightened the life out of me. Where were you? We could have used your help at the docks today!”

“ _IT IS CONCERNING ANDERS I WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOU._ ” Eyes sheened in blue spirit fire stared at him, and Hawke felt his heart sink.

“... Justice?” he said cautiously.

“ _YES. I HAVE... A PROBLEM._ ” The spirit seemed uncomfortable as it regarded him, shifting restlessly.

“A problem?” echoed Hawke. 

“ _I HAVE... LOST ANDERS._ ”

Hawke stared at the spirit. Justice stared back.

“I think you’d better come inside.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Alright, let me get this straight,” said Hawke as he paced slowly. “You and Anders were working on a potion that could separate you from him safely. And something went wrong, so now you possess his body -”

“ _AND ANDERS POSSESSES THE BODY OF A CAT_ ,” intoned Justice. 

Anders - well, no, it was Justice, wasn’t it, in Anders’ body? - stood unnaturally stiff beside the fire, spirit fire gleaming through cracks in his skin, eyes glowing with that sheen of unnatural fire, a faint miasma of the Fade slowly wafting up from him. It was really rather unnerving, Hawke had to admit - it was different when Justice came out briefly during fights; usually he was far too intent on killing whoever was trying to kill _them_ at the time, and generally it seemed Anders was still present at least. 

But to have the spirit watching him with those alien eyes - the very stillness of his body screamed _wrong, unnatural!_ to Hawke, and to know that there was nothing of Anders in there, not even sleeping - _that_ was what he found most unnerving of all.

He _liked_ Anders. Liked him a lot, in fact; maybe a little _too_ much. Varric had teased him about it more than once; it hadn’t surprised Hawke that the dwarf had spotted his growing attraction to the blond healer, but Hawke was relieved that beyond a couple of veiled jokes Varric had kept it to himself.

But looking at the man’s possessed body - a body utterly devoid of Anders himself, now merely a vessel for Justice - Hawke realised he felt no attraction to Anders’ body. It was Anders himself - his fire, his passion; the way he spoke, his laugh - Maker, all the things that made Anders _Anders_ \- that was what drew him to the man. And seeing his form so devoid of everything that made the healer so uniquely him was incredibly disturbing.

“What sort of cat?” Hawke asked as he paced.

“ _AN ORANGE STRIPED CAT. I BELIEVE ANDERS CALLED IT A ‘GINGER TABBY’,_ ” replied the spirit, and Hawke couldn’t restrain a chuckle.

“A tabby? That’s so like Anders,” he snorted. “Didn’t he own a ginger tabby once?”

“ _SER POUNCE-A-LOT,_ ” replied Justice, the unnerving blue-white eyes following Hawke as he paced, though the rest of Anders’ body remained preternaturally still. “ _IT WAS WRONG FOR ANDERS TO KEEP A LIVING CREATURE IN SLAVERY. IT WAS UNJUST._ ”

“Justice, believe me - you _can’t_ enslave a cat; they go where they want,” replied Hawke. “Keeping a cat is more like... you share living space with it, it comes and goes as it pleases, and they’re contrary little shits that do what they want, when they want. You can’t train ’em like a mabari. I can see why Anders prefers cats to dogs though - they’re just like him.” He grinned.

“ _ANDERS **IS** A CAT NOW,_ ” Justice pointed out, and Hawke’s smile slipped slightly.

“You said this happened a week ago?” he pressed; Justice nodded. Hawke pondered. That would have been just after the Bone Pit trip then, when he and the others were clearing up those bandits. He groaned. Kirkwall was a big place; there was no telling how many hiding places there were for a lost, ginger tabby.

He was suddenly struck by a thought and turned on his heel to stare at Justice. “You’re sure there was no, uh, you know - blood magic? Involved in this potion?”

The spirit fire over Anders’ - no, _Justice’s_ body suddenly intensified and he took a step towards Hawke, eyes blazing in righteous fury. “ _ **YOU DARE SUGGEST THAT ANDERS IS A BLOOD MAGE???**_ ” he roared. 

Hawke retreated, hands held up appeasingly. “Alright, alright, I take it back!” he exclaimed hurriedly. “It was just a suggestion! I’ve never heard of this kind of magic before, okay? Just... just calm down, alright? I’m going to help, honestly I am - just... just calm down, Justice.”

Justice glared at him for a moment then stepped back and folded its arms in a very Anders-like manner as it tilted its head on one side. “ _HMMPH. VERY WELL._ ”

Hawke exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. “If it had been blood magic, I could have asked Merrill to have a try at seeing what she could sense and maybe track him that way,” he explained. “I guess it won’t hurt to get her to have a look around and see what she picks up.” He sighed. “Maker, I’m just imagining what Varric and the others are going to say. I can’t exactly picture Fenris wandering around going ‘here, kitty kitty kitty!’ you know?” He snorted a laugh, trying to imagine it.

“ _THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER,_ ” Justice insisted, and Hawke’s laughter died.

“No, you’re right,” he nodded. “I remember Anders used to put milk out to try and attract any local cats but he’d never seen any; he was afraid the refugees had scared them all off - or perhaps eaten them. Kirkwall’s not exactly safe for a cat.”

“ _YOU WILL HELP FIND ANDERS._ ” It was a statement, not a question; Hawke nodded.

“Of course I will,” he replied firmly. “Anders needs us. I don’t let my friends down.”

***

Fenris stroked the cat thoughtfully as he stared at the picture book. Hawke had been trying to teach him to read; it had been a slow process. Hawke was an impatient teacher, and Fenris had struggled to follow the rogue’s instruction. He’d had a few lessons from Varric that had gone much better, and the book in his hands now was one that Varric had given him. It was a book of fairy stories for children, but not written in a condescending tone. Still, there were a few words he had trouble with.

Like this one. He squinted at the word. “Be- fre-ind-de... de...did? Befriended?”

The cat gave a small chirp and sat up, pawing the book for a moment before turning to headbut Fenris gently on the chin. He chuckled softly. “Did I get it right, then? Hmm... have I befriended _you_ , Ser Cat?”

The cat chirped and brushed his chin with its muzzle - first one side of its nose, then the other, before softly headbutting him again. Fenris chuckled and stroked the cat. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” he said quietly. He ran a hand slowly down the cat’s spine and was rewarded as the cat arched up into his touch. 

“I think I can see now why the abomination is so enamoured of your kind,” mused Fenris. The cat put its ears back with a hiss as it suddenly turned and whacked his hand with a paw that was only barely velveted,glaring up at Fenris, its tail twitching angrily; Fenris blinked. The cat suddenly leapt down from his lap, launching itself with such force that its claws pricked through his leggings; Fenris swore and frowned at the cat.

The cat trotted out of the room, tail still twitching; Fenris got to his feet. “What has gotten into you, cat?” he asked as he followed behind; the cat headed downstairs and darted off. Fenris followed just in time to see the cat’s tail disappearing through the window he’d left open for it. He sighed, then shrugged and shook his head. 

He was heading back up the stairs when there came a sudden pounding at the front door of the mansion; he sighed and rolled his eyes. He knew it would be Hawke even before he opened the door. He frowned as the abomination himself followed the rogue.

“What is _he_ doing here?” the elf scowled as he turned and stalked back upstairs to his room; after a moment, Hawke followed, the mage bringing up the rear.

“Fenris, we have a problem,” said Hawke as he followed the elf into his room; the mage remained silent. “And... it’s about Anders.”

Fenris turned and stared at the mage, and his frown deepened as he noticed the spirit fire that danced crackling over the man’s skin and sheened his eyes.

“Can he no longer control his demon?” he growled.

“ _ **I AM NO DEMON!!**_ ” roared the possessed mage.

“Easy, both of you!” said Hawke as he stepped between them both. He looked to the elf. “Fenris, Anders is missing.” Fenris scowled then glanced back at the abomination; Hawke shook his head hastily. “That’s not Anders,” he added.

“I... beg your pardon?” replied Fenris slowly. 

“ _ANDERS AND I ARE NO LONGER JOINED_ ,” intoned the abomination.

“It’s true,” Hawke nodded as Fenris glanced to him. “Seems Anders was trying to come up with some way to separate himself and Justice, sending Justice back to the Fade - except it didn’t entirely work and, er, it was Anders who got removed.”

Fenris stared at the abomination in alarm and reached for his sword. “You mean the mage is dead and you have brought a demon into my home?” he snarled.

“No, Fenris, wait!” exclaimed Hawke. “Anders isn’t dead! Don’t attack Justice, please! Anders will need his body when we find him!”

Fenris stared at Hawke in incomprehension. “What do you mean, ‘when we find him’?” he asked slowly.

“Anders is... a cat now,” said Hawke, and eyed him warily.

“A cat,” Fenris echoed flatly.

“Yes, a cat,” Hawke nodded. “Look - I know it sounds insane but we’re telling the truth, Fenris - somehow Anders got bounced into the body of a stray cat he’d apparently been looking after recently, and when Justice tried to pick him up he got spooked -”

Fenris blinked, letting Hawke’s voice wash over him as he turned slowly and stared at the box by the fire. “When did this happen?” he interrupted Hawke.

“Uh... about a bit over week ago?” replied the rogue. “Apparently it happened whilst we were out on the Wounded Coast.”

Fenris walked over to the food and water dishes by the fire. “And what colour did you say the cat was?” he asked with a growing feeling of unease.

Hawke and Justice exchanged a look. 

“ _A GINGER TABBY_ ,” answered Justice.

Coincidence. It _had_ to be a coincidence... right?

“Fenris, are you OK?” asked Hawke, drawing closer. “You look -” He broke off and followed Fenris’ gaze to stare at the box lined with a blanket and the food and water dishes by the fire. “Fenris,” he asked, his tone suddenly one of diffidence. “Since when did you have a pet cat?”

“A ginger tabby, you said?” asked Fenris, his mouth suddenly dry. It wasn’t possible. It _had_ to be a coincidence.

Hawke reached out and plucked a couple of hairs from Fenris’ tunic and held them up. “A ginger tabby,” nodded Hawke.

“ _Venhedis!_ ”


End file.
